I have got to be the snarkiest, most foul-mouthed person I know. Seriously. There are so many times that something comes out of my mouth and I am like “oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that.”
Really, I know many of us feel this way; and I have worked really hard to be a kind and generous person. Up until I started blogging, that is. With blogging came a whole new me: I was no longer afraid to say what I felt behind the safety of my own laptop. All of a sudden there were people everywhere just like me – snarly, blunt, and overtly honest. I could control who saw that part of me and who didn’t as well. There were people who swore, and a lot – just like me. And then the “likes” came (speaking of which, if you haven’t “liked” my blog on Facebook, could you get on that already?), and the comments showed up; people agreed with me. It was a whole new world of humor and general misanthrope where I finally felt a sense of belonging.
Flash forward to now, years after beginning to blog, I am confronted with a new evil: I am no longer as kind and generous as I used to be. I don’t mean that I’m becoming a bad person – in fact, I think I am an even better person now that I can feel more comfortable in my own skin. Rather, I mean that while I’ve always been very blunt and told people how I really felt; now my snark has transcended from the computer screen to the in-person conversation. My foul mouth has too. My husband recently commented on how much I have been swearing lately and when asked why he thought that was, he replied “oh it’s obvious it’s because of your blog.”
‘Fuck yeah’ is all I have to say to that.
Now, though, I find myself confronted with more frequent times that I am in person or online and I say something that the moment I say it I cringe inside and wish that those snappy, biting words had not made their way out of my mouth. Recently, I have had quite a few of them.
#1 An Unfortunate Encounter With That Wench From the Swimming Pool
Do all of you faithful blog followers remember when that crazy lady at the swimming pool started yelling at me because my kid was crying and afraid of the water a few months ago? The pool staff had told me already that crying was no big deal and that the other kids would be fine, but this wench wanted to get all up in my face because (first) she thought her kid’s experience was being ruined because of the crying; and (second) I just smiled and said “okay we are leaving” because I didn’t want to get into an argument in front of the kids.
So we had an unfortunate encounter with that wench from the swimming pool last week at the public library.
I shouldn’t be surprised. We live in fucking Smalltown U.S.A., population Every Fucking Asshole You Don’t Want Anything To Do With. I didn’t even recognize her at first – and why would I? I saw the bitch once at swimming class as she got her nasty snaggletooth all up in my face, and that was months ago.
But then I heard her say it: “oh look, honey – it’s the little girl from swimming that was crying like a baby.” That pushed me over the edge, especially because I love the library and don’t want to feel like I have to avoid the place because of that wench. So I said as we walked by: “my you are such a nasty, snaggle-toothed bitch, really you are.”
Of course some of the children heard. Bad momma.
#2 A Tet-a-Tet With My Resident Baller
So I try not to get too into the business of the neighbors in my apartment complex. The majority of them are bucktoothed hillbillies (most notably the one I saw yesterday walking around her front porch in her fucking JCPenny bra). There are a couple of people that seem relatively normal, but then they steer clear of the other residents like I do so I haven’t gotten to know them.
Every day I walk down to the laundry room to insert a buck-twenty-five into the soda machine and get my daily fix of caffeine and aspartame (self-professed Diet Coke addict here, and don’t give me any of that bull shit about how bad it is for me because I don’t give a shit). Today, I walked in and I saw this guy with his pants hanging down so far off his ass I could see his nasty, stained boxers; and he was on the phone talking about picking up some sort of liquor with the child support he just stiffed his ex-wife on.
After he got off the phone he turned his hat around backward and started to take laundry out of the dryer and I guess one of his hella-tight baller jerseys shrunk from size XXXL to S, because he started talking to me about how he hates it when his clothes shrink in the dryer. My response you faithful blog followers ask?
“Perhaps if you were worried less with your baller swagger and more with taking care of your fucking kid bad shit wouldn’t happen to you.”
That was really none of my business to get into.
#3 Target Showdown With Hello Kitty Toaster
You got that right, faithful blog followers! After a wonderful respite from seeing the whoreface with the Hello Kitty Toaster, I (sadly) ran into her at Target earlier this week.
She seemed to be acting nice enough, although she always has this way of getting under my skin. The conversation went downhill when she told me I looked like I had lost weight.
Before describing to you all the conversation, though, let me just say that I can’t stand when people tell others that they look like they’ve lost weight. If you know that someone has recently undergone a major weight loss challenge, that’s great. But if you don’t know that – for sure and without a doubt – saying that someone looks like they have lost weight is like telling the person that you thought they needed to lose weight. I have never looked or felt good when anyone has said that to me, and usually because it is followed up with some bullshit like this:
“Oh you look like you’ve lost weight!”
“Really? Not really… thanks though.”
“Oh come on … what have you been doing to drop the pounds?”
“No, really … I haven’t done anything.”
“Heather … we were all talking a few months ago that we knew you had put on some weight recently. So what’s the secret?”
And then I said it, that thing that I regretted as soon as it came out of my mouth: “Well, thanks for confirming my suspicion that you are all a bunch of shit talking gossipers, who apparently thought I was morbidly obese, but no I have not done anything to lose weight.”
Then I said good-bye.
Really, it felt great to say that. I regretted it, though, the moment it came out of my mouth because I know that the shit talking gossip I mentioned invariably hit a fever pitch after that one.
#4 Footrub Orgasm
So I went to another new nail salon today. It wasn’t because I am unhappy with my new, non-Korean Hooker one. It’s because I found a gift certificate in a pile of things my Trailer Trash Mom left behind after moving out of my father’s house to the place, so figured I would just use it because (first) she won’t care; and (second) she owes me way more than a pedicure.
So I went to this nail salon this evening and the experience was alright. Just alright, though – nothing special, really. It was busy when I got there but dwindled down to just me by the end when the guy doing my pedicure started rubbing my feet. I was reading a book and heard a slight grunt, though, and looked down to see the guy having what appeared to be an orgasmic experience rubbing my feet.
“You really are enjoying that, aren’t you?” I said, realizing the minute it came out of my mouth that I shouldn’t have said it. It was just rude of me. He laughed and acted embarrassed, then stopped rubbing immediately, painted my toenails, and disappeared into the waxing room in the back.
So you see, my moniker is true: I really am such a b(itch). A b(itch) who can’t keep her mouth shut, apparently anywhere at this point.
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